


My Time Coming Any Day (Don't Worry About Me No)

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Prophetic Visions, Prophets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 06:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5238710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post season 7 AU where Kevin turns into a genuine prophecy-receiving Prophet while surviving his confinement with Crowley, all because he reads a certain set of paperbacks to get a break from translating the demon tablet. Once he’s reunited with the brothers, it’s hard to balance what he’s learned about their back-story with how they are now. He does his best to help them with insights of what’s coming for them, and what they’ve neglected to tell each other from their recent past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Time Coming Any Day (Don't Worry About Me No)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Canon minor character death
> 
> Author’s Notes: Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2015 Kevin Big Bang. Title from “Estimated Prophet” by The Grateful Dead.  
> Thank you so much for the timely and very useful as usual beta, amypond45. Wonderful illustration by sesmercurial can be found [here.](http://smercurial.tumblr.com/post/133609819521/my-art-for-the-kevin-big-bang-titlemy-time)

At first, the books were a diversion from the initial all-consuming impulse he’d had to translate the tablet. That strange hunk of ancient stone with incomprehensible markings carved all over it he couldn’t stop trying to read. The stone that haunted his every waking moment as well as his dreams. Any time he spent reading the books was like taking a vacation, one that he sorely needed during his time spent as Crowley’s captive.

He remembers the first time he came across the books, lined up on one of the shelves of Crowley’s bookcases in his overly ornate office. He’d only noticed them because they were completely different from anything else on the shelves, lurid colors and fonts splashed across their end-bindings, catching his eye from all the dull encyclopedias of demon history and ancient texts that he had no business even knowing existed. But once he’d started reading them, he realized these books…well, they were more than just vaguely familiar. The brothers that hunted and fought side by side through thick and thin, angels and demons and monsters and each other, those brothers were worth reading about because he knew them.

Kevin didn’t understand how the descriptions of the brothers and their car and their adventures could match so closely to the Winchester brothers that he had briefly known. How was that even possible? Was it a friend of theirs writing these books? Or was it maybe even one of them coming up with the stories and publishing them to make money to fund their strange lifestyle? Sam had seemed like he’d be into writing, he was definitely into reading, but probably not Dean as much. But the brothers’ personalities and everything that he could remember about them came through so clearly on the page. It was as if the writer, Carver Edlund, had been a fly on the window of the Impala for a few years.

Kevin thought that maybe it was just a result of his being held captive for so long; he’d lost track of how long it had been. Or perhaps the overwhelming effort it took to translate the demon tablet and hide the results from Crowley were messing with his mind even more than he thought they were. The demon banishing ritual he’d just finished translating was going to be his ticket out of here, and then first thing he’d call Sam; hopefully he’d gotten Dean back from wherever he’d disappeared to with Cas and the exploding Dick. He didn’t know them very well, but he knew without a doubt that Dean would be making tons of exploding dick jokes, and Sam would be rolling his eyes at them.

The more he started thinking about the Winchesters, the more he got the urge to write. His first impulse was to write down what had happened to him since he’d met them. He asked for and received quite promptly from his demon captors a Moleskine journal. Kevin told them it was to set down all his translations in one place. They were so stupid believing him without question. Crowley was right about the demons who worked for him; most of them were loyal and subservient, but wouldn’t have known what to do without his direction. Crowley was always bragging about his organizational prowess and about the ineptitude of his underlings. Kevin humored him, because when he got off on these bragging jags, it took his mind off of tormenting him about speeding up his translation. That and all the damn haircuts. Crowley was obsessed with cutting Kevin’s hair and giving him what he called mani-pedis. It was weird being handled like that by this man who was the King of Hell, but it was the only physical contact he had with anyone for months and he was startled by how starved for it he was.

~**~**~  
Once the requested journal was in his hands, he checked it over carefully, running his hands over the smooth, empty pages and pulling gently on the elastic closure, he flipped the bookmark ribbon out of the way and began writing. He lost himself in telling the story, surprised at the details he was able to recall and incorporate of his experiences with Sam and Dean. When he re-read it, he realized that there were many complete scenes that he had not witnessed himself. It was strange how detailed and fully sketched out they were, almost as if he’d seen them happen. But as he read them, he felt the ring of truth in his mind, this was what had actually happened, how he knew that, he had no idea.

Kevin could close his eyes and see it all happening like a great horror/action movie; the Winchesters moving through the epic long-running battle with Dick Roman that had begun before he even knew a thing about being a Prophet of the Lord or the monsters with way too many teeth, the Leviathans; Sam fighting off and reasoning with someone named Bobby, who was a ghost; Dean yelling at Cas when they’d gone off to retrieve the Impala; and this red-haired girl who called herself Charlie transforming herself from a geeky nerd into a monster fighter just by hanging out with the Winchesters for a few days. He saw the brothers improbably dressed in airplane service worker outfits complete with goggles pull a fast one on the Leviathans and come out of it with a hunk of rock in their car’s trunk. The trunk of one of the crappy cars they kept stealing when he’d first met them.

Kevin remembered how Dean had always told him stories about their real car that was hidden in storage, his Baby. He could tell Dean capitalized it like a proper name just by how he said the word. Kevin hadn’t missed Sam’s fond smiles at Dean when he’d talk about the car like it was their missing third brother. Once Sam had even called it their home which had made Dean’s eyes go glassy with unshed tears.

For such a macho guy, Dean was really quite sensitive, and that came through in these scenes that Kevin was somehow an un-embodied witness to, sometimes he even saw Dean alone, talking to himself, usually about Sam. His whole being seemed to revolve around Sam, and vice versa really. He’d never met anyone quite like them, set aside the obvious difference of being monster hunters, but two people who were so consumed with the effort to keep each other alive and as happy as possible. It seemed somehow ideal for the life that they led, full of danger around every turn, but someone at your side that you could always depend on making it possible to bear and even enjoy occasionally.

One of the scenes he saw in great detail centered around the hunk of rock they’d stolen from Dick Roman, the colorful windows all lined up behind the brothers, the tools they assembled, the goggles they wore, Dean nonchalantly smashing the rock with a hammer, the thunder and lightning rumbling immediately, the shrug of Dean’s shoulders as he continued until the demon tablet sat on the old wood of the table glowing and alive in his memory. But it wasn’t his memory. It wasn’t his. None of these were. Whose memories were they?

The more he wrote, the more detailed observances and nuances of the Winchesters’ epic story he spilled out of himself, the more he worried. Kevin became convinced that he was absolutely not creating this on his own, it felt like it was pouring through him somehow. Like he’d become a clear glass pitcher that kept refilling from some mysterious source and his only job was to contain the story long enough to spill it out onto the acid-free pages of his one-hundred-seventy-six page notebook. He’d wanted the acid-free page of a Moleskine, since he knew about chemistry and the longevity of the written word. Something told him that what he was writing down needed to last for a very, very long time. It wasn’t a hunch, or a feeling, it was a certainty, as well as an imperative. There was no question, this story that he was so wrapped up in telling became as equally important as the translation project. He soon had to ask for another journal, having filled up the first.

For some reason, Crowley let him do this writing; he knew that Crowley saw it, and he’d even taken away the first journal for a while, presumably reading it himself. Maybe it was about knowing your opponent, because he’d had the Edlund books already. But then Crowley had started to talk about the Winchesters, a fond undertone in his voice as he called them Moose and Squirrel, relaying how they’d gone back and forth as adversaries and reluctant compatriots with each other for years over many twists and turns. For being such mortal enemies, it was obvious how much Crowley admired the brothers. Kevin could see that he’d missed a lot between where the Edlund books stopped and where the stories that Crowley knew began, and where he himself had started knowing what had gone on with the Winchesters.

He was slowly starting to realize that this was probably one of his jobs as a Prophet. Just like the prophet in the books, Chuck Shurley, the guy that had written under the pen name Carver Edlund. It seemed unlikely, just because of who his subjects were, they were unlikely as could be. But they were epic, everything about them put them at another level from regular human beings. No one he knew, not even his tough-as-nails mother, could have survived what they had and still remained so caring. He remembered Dean having him breathe into a paper bag as he’d sat in that dank basement he’d been worried was a sex-torture dungeon. How gruff Dean had tried to be, but underneath he was a caring gooshy marshmallow. At first Sam had seemed so scattered and distant, but he’d appeared to somehow reassemble himself over the first week Kevin had known them. Sam proving himself over and over again to be especially caring, and not at all afraid to show it like his brother was.

Between his tablet-translating sessions, Kevin had time to re-read the books a second time, which left off at a horrible cliff-hanger: Sam having jumped into the pit with Lucifer and Michael, then reappearing on the street outside of the house where Dean lived with Lisa and her son, Ben (who Kevin was convinced was really Dean’s son although Lisa hadn’t fessed-up yet). The story just stopped, as if the Prophet had disappeared.

He noticed the publication dates of the books were strange too. Most of them were published by the same company, regularly over the course of a few years at first, and then there was a noticeable gap. Then another company took over the publishing duties. It was interesting, and he wondered if it had something to do with what had happened to Chuck Shurley in the last book. Writing yourself into the story was really tripping him out as an authorial construct. Especially since he was essentially doing the same exact thing. He remembered reading the scene when Castiel told Dean that they would come to be called the Winchester Gospels, which he himself was apparently now adding to. By the time he escaped Crowley, he’d filled up two more of the Moleskine journals, adding all three of them to the backpack along with the tablet, the only things that mattered to him in the world.

~**~**~

Those first months running and hiding from the demons that Crowley sent after him were almost harder than being Crowley’s pet Prophet captive had been. He took risks in making increasingly desperate and embarrassing phone calls to Sam, for all the good that did. But he was free, and the demon tablet was done, translated completely, and he had more time to devote to writing down the rest of the Winchester story in all its gory detail. It seemed that the faster he wrote, the faster the story poured through him onto the page, he would write until his hand cramped and then write some more, forgetting to eat or drink, but never forgetting to protect himself from the demons that hunted him.

Kevin didn’t let himself think too much about the implications of what being a prophet meant as far as the existence or non-existence of God. He’d never been a believer, his mom wasn’t, it hadn’t really come up in his life. But the more he spent time writing the Winchester Gospels, the more he became convinced that if there was a God, he really had left Earth to be fought over by the angels and demons. It made him mad that here he was, stuck with some divine imperative he couldn’t ignore and the divinity in question wasn’t even around. And that itself was completely pointless; being mad at God seemed like a big waste of time. Although he did wish that he’d gotten an archangel protector like Chuck Shurley had. That seemed rather unfair after all he’d suffered at the hands of Crowley.

Kevin wished he could get in touch with his mom or his kind-of girlfriend, Channing, just to let them know he wasn’t kidnapped anymore. Maybe to even let them know he was a Prophet, not that there was a chance in hell they’d believe him. But he didn’t want to risk it. There had to be demons watching them, Crowley had gotten that much out of him, so the jerk knew how important the two women were to Kevin. His mother, his only parent, the driving force behind all his academic success, proudly claiming the title of Tiger Mom when she first read about that whole controversy. And Channing, the girl-friend (or friend that was a girl,) he wasn’t really sure as they hadn’t nailed that down before he’d gone on the run. She was smart and funny, and just as nerdy and driven as he was. She was probably already in college for her first year. And here he was, living alone in an abandoned church that he’d learned how to fortify against demons, armed only with a Super-Soaker filled with a custom mixture of holy water and borax. He’d given up on finding Sam since he’d never heard back from him and had to assume the worst had happened. Maybe the Leviathan had gotten him or he’d been trapped in the lab that he’d blown up. That was all Kevin could find online, the video of the smoking remains of the SucroCorp lab.

He spent a few months, hunkered down in that church, just writing and keeping vigilant watch for demons. It was as if there was an invisible shield to allow him the time to write the Winchesters’ story down. He realized that the information download (that’s what he called it now, ‘The Download’) had started over at the point where the last published book, Swan Song had left off. So now he got to know the aftermath of Sam’s great sacrifice. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around Bobby leaving Dean to think for an entire year that his brother was in Hell. That never would make much sense to him at all. The Sam who was hunting with those strange relatives, the Campbell family, even in his soul-less state should have known how damaging that would be to Dean. And that meant that his friend’s soul, Sam’s soul, had stayed in the Cage with Lucifer and Michael that whole time. To Kevin, that made Sam’s choice to kill off his remaining split persona, the one who remembered Hell, a million times more impressive. To choose to take on all that horrible stuff, knowing it would likely kill you, if not make you permanently crazy, just on the off chance you could help your brother, made Sam even more of a hero in Kevin’s mind now. Anyone else would have taken the easy way out and stayed in his memories, but not Sam. And as far as Kevin could tell, Dean never knew about this choice. Sam had kept all of that private for some reason.

Some of the Download was specific about their motivations and feelings, at least enough to make a good story when written on the page, but it left a lot unsaid. And he knew those guys were deep, especially Sam. They’d seen more shit in a life than most, and yeah they were terrifying and violent, but they were two of the most caring people he’d ever met, especially for each other. That seemed to be the ultimate lesson out of the Winchester Gospels: their love saved the world over and over again, as they saved each other.

Finally he caught back up to where he’d come into the story, and he thought that meant he’d be done. Because obviously, Dean was dead, blown up with Dick Roman, and something had to have happened to Sam because there’s no way he wouldn’t have answered his phone calls if he was alive. But that was when it got really weird. Kevin was woken up in the middle of the night with a new Download, one that felt different from all the others. This one wasn’t as sharp around the edges, not as defined, and it included some of his own latest travails, including this very evening’s entertainment of venturing out to buy a new journal to write in and get supplies.

Then the last paragraph came to him all in one burst of information, where Sam came back into focus. He was petting a dog and packing a duffle bag quietly so as not to wake the woman who was sleeping, leaving a small house in the Impala, driving off into the night. Kevin was astonished for many reasons, first the fact that Sam seemed likely to be alive, and that he’d been living with a woman and a dog, not hunting. But why was he leaving like a thief in the night? No more was forthcoming from the Download so he folded up the new journal and snuggled back into his sleeping bag for the rest of the night, dreaming of slapping Sam upside the head when he finally saw him.

In the morning, after going through his usual post-breakfast routine of checking the salt lines and making another batch of holy water and borax for the Super Soaker, his brain felt like it was turned inside-out and then back again in less than a second, his whole body drenched in sweat from the pain which drove him to his knees beside the front pew of the church. He came back to himself slowly, noticing his unsteady, panting breaths, and concentrated on getting at least that under control. His brain continued to throb like it was trying to expand out of his skull with every single heartbeat. He unsteadily got to his feet and tried to focus his eyes, worried that this would be the moment that Crowley’s demons would finally attack.

After a long worried moment where he wasn’t sure that he was even awake, Kevin made his way back to his workspace and opened up his new journal, staring at the blank page. He flipped backwards and re-read the last paragraph of what he’d written last night, about Sam driving, and felt something like a relieved sigh go through him all at once. He wrote, steadily and without a break, until it was well past his normal lunch time, the words pouring through him, assembling a new story of escape and happy reunion and another road trip towards the very city he was in. The last sentence he wrote was some dialogue, Dean briefly describing his experience in Purgatory to Sam. They both sounded so strange, like they weren’t back in sync with each other after their separation, but at least they were coming to find him.

He sat back in his chair and looked up at the rafters, dust motes twirling in the sunbeams shining through the stained glass. How did he feel about this, the Winchesters finally coming for him, or to him? Was he happy that they hadn’t forgotten him or was he worried that being back in their orbit made his life much more dangerous again? It was a toss-up really, and he couldn’t deal with that right now, because, holy shit, that right there, that was a prophecy! His first one in real-time! And it had hurt getting that written down, god did his head ache. He remembered that in the books, Chuck had complained of his head hurting. Must be the physical manifestation of receiving a prophecy from wherever the hell they came from.

Kevin rifled through his backpack for a bottle of ibuprofen and popped three of them with half a bottle of Gatorade. He had to prepare for the Winchesters’ imminent arrival, he had to get his story straight about what he’d tell them. How was he going to look them in the eye now, when he’d seen everything about the last few years of their lives in Imax 3-D detail? What was it Chuck had done? He’d told them part of the story at first of how and what he saw about them. But he hadn’t known he was a prophet until the angels came to him; he hadn’t known that it wasn’t psychosis or whatever, it was a mission from God.

So, that left Kevin in a better position; he had more information in a way, but then so did the brothers. They knew he was a prophet after all. Chuck had confessed to Sam that he intentionally left out some of the things he thought would make Sam’s story of demon-blood addiction less sympathetic to the reader. But he hadn’t elaborated about everything that he’d left out. It had gone unsaid between Chuck and the Winchesters at least as far as he knew. And he sure as hell wasn’t bringing any of that up. It was their own personal business, and he wasn’t a judge, he was just a prophet. While he’d been writing their story down, he’d taken the cue from Chuck and left out the more private details of the Winchesters’ relationship.

As far as Kevin was concerned the point of telling their story was the transcendent love between the brothers and what that love had accomplished for the world. So, he was resolved, he wouldn’t tell them that he was carrying on writing the Winchester Gospels, but he would share the prophecies he received, just in case they’d be useful. It had worked when Chuck had done it, so why not give that a try?

Rearranging his meager belongings so that they’d be ready to go tonight gave Kevin time to think about his first prophecy. He was going to be honest with himself; getting over the anger at being abandoned by Sam was made easier by knowing the story of their separated year. It hadn’t been a vacation or something for Sam; in some ways, Kevin supposed it had been the hardest year of Sam’s life, and that was really saying something. For Dean to not immediately understand that just showed how messed up being in Purgatory had made him. The brothers were going to be pretty dysfunctional and he needed them to be up to the task of keeping him safe until they could do something about the demons.

Thinking about the demons though, that unfortunately led to a mini-breakdown; worrying about seeing Channing again. Knowing what was going to happen to her ahead of time did not help things. It made it so much worse. Preparing himself for finally seeing Channing after all this time was hard enough, but knowing what had already happened to her, just because she had been unlucky enough to know him…he didn’t know how to deal with this much guilt. There was so much he wished he could have said or done, but knowing none of it would really have helped was crushing. He laid down on the pile of his gathered belongings and cried himself to sleep.

~**~**~

The nap must have helped, because when he woke up in the late afternoon the weight was still there in his gut, but his heart wasn’t as raw and broken. By the time it was evening, he was so excited that he almost couldn’t eat his dinner, a can of vegetarian chili heated up on the small camp stove, but he forced himself, because he knew the brothers would want to take off with him right away. He knew, because he’d written it. It was bizarre, now living the story he’d just penned in the journal this morning. He couldn’t imagine becoming used to the sensation, but then he’d gotten used to worrying about Leviathans and demons. To kill time, he practiced his cello scales, drumming his fingers in position along one of the tops of the pews. It was comforting hearing the music in his memory, feeling the rhythm that he’d been so proficient at, he missed the joy of playing his cello and this was as close as he could get. He’d lost so much, pretty much everything, but he still had this.

The Winchesters’ entrance into his church (he called it ‘The Church of the Prophet’ just to be ironic) was much noisier than he’d expected it would be. It was like they were announcing themselves, and just because he could, he emptied the entire Super Soaker of holy water and borax into their faces. Their shocked expressions made him laugh out loud for the first time in months. He was surprised to hear how cracked he sounded, it had been a long time since he’d had any real human interaction, demons and salesclerks didn’t count.

Kevin suffered through Sam’s halting apologies and Dean’s whoops of excitement about the Gates of Hell thing. He’d written it down, but when it happened, when Dean grabbed him up in a big enthusiastic full-body hug his own body just melted into Dean’s. Feeling contact with another person, even if it was someone like Dean, meant everything, it made him feel real again, part of the world, maybe even useful. When Dean finally released him, he felt Dean give him a little push towards Sam, and then he was suddenly getting a Sam Winchester hug, an even more full-body experience than Dean’s version.

The guy was big, bigger than life, and Sam was Kevin’s real-life hero now that he knew his whole story. From what he knew was about to happen tonight, Sam was going to argue in favor of leaving Kevin out of the attempt to close the Gates of Hell. Something about that touched him very deeply, that this giant of a man who was engulfing him, apologizing with his entire being for leaving Kevin alone for a year, when he had nothing to apologize for. Dean and Kevin should be fucking grateful that he was still here to deal out his hugs that were definitely worth dying for. Kevin really wished he could just say that, straight out for both of them to hear, but based on what he’d just written down about the brothers’ reunion and trip to find him, they still hadn’t gotten to where that would be acceptable or even tolerated.

Kevin realized suddenly, seeing for himself the disgusted expression on Dean’s face when he explained the brothers’ long absence from Kevin’s life, that it was going to be up to him to push them towards reconciling over the year they spent apart. The sooner the better for them, and probably the world. Just call me Kevin Tran, Prophet of the Lord, Relationship Counselor to Super Heroes ,he joked to himself. If his mom could only see him now, what a crazy career he’d fallen into.

When the brothers stepped outside to have a discussion about involving him in the new goal of shutting the Gates, he moved to the door to listen in, wanting to confirm for himself that the conversation he’d written matched what was actually said. He was pleased to see that the dialogue was a near perfect match. So he was an accurate prophet. Good to know. Once he’d checked that out, he prepared for the coming demon attack. He probably should have mentioned it to Sam and Dean so they could be prepared, but he knew it would turn out okay.

It hurt worse than anything seeing Channing again, especially that brief moment when it was her again, even knowing it was going to happen still didn’t prepare him for how much he had left inside to still be broken to smithereens. But then it was really her neck snapping, and he was really watching Crowley’s satisfied smirk as he was driven away by two of the scariest and most amazing people he’d ever known.

“How in the world did you have that rigged up, Kev? That was pretty kick-ass,” Dean crowed from the front seat, pounding a fist into the steering wheel for emphasis.

Kevin shrugged in the darkness of the backseat, silent because he didn’t know where to start.

“Was it a prophecy or something, Kevin?” Sam asked, turning around to face him.

“Hold on, hold on!” Dean yelled. “If you’re getting prophecies now all of a sudden, you’ve got to share them with us. Like, ahead of time, you know? I mean, it would have been nice to know Crowley was gonna show up!”

“Okay, fine. I will, I swear,” Kevin said, trying not to sulk because he was getting scolded.

“Thanks, Kevin, that’ll be great. As you can tell, we can use all the help we can get,” Sam said with a smile that was lit by the headlights of the car following them.

Kevin smiled back at him and laid down, hoping to sleep, but of course the awful vision of Channing’s head flopping unnaturally and Crowley’s snapping fingers kept replaying on a constant loop. He flopped back and forth, trying to get comfortable, the whole time wondering about how Sam and Dean ever managed to sleep back here. He sat up straight with a pained groan when that reminded him of all the things he’d left out of their story; it was hard not to imagine it, when you were sitting right where it had happened. He sent a curse out to God or whoever it was in charge of the Download for burdening him with the ultimate TMI.

They drove for a few hours and then Sam was able to persuade Dean to pull into a motel. Dean dropped them off and immediately set out to go find them something to eat. Kevin was grateful to be out of the car, even though he’d been half lying down, legs stretched out on the backseat. All he could think was that it would be nice to not be moving. He wasn’t used to being in a car after a year of moving around via short bus trips. He shouldered the heavy backpack that contained the now eight volumes of the New Winchester Gospels and trudged towards the door. At the last moment he tripped on the parking bumper and fell forward, Sam caught him just in time before he face planted. Sam helped him to his feet and held his backpack by a couple of fingers as if it weighed nothing.

“What’s so heavy in here? I thought you hid the tablet; you’re not just carrying it around, right?” Sam asked, bouncing the backpack several times as if he was weighing it.

“No! I’m not stupid, of course not. It’s…uh…what I’ve been working on, after I was done translating the tablet.”

“Is this more prophecies then?” Sam asked, tilting his head a little; showing that he was genuinely curious.

“No. It’s not, well, uh, kinda, I guess,” Kevin answered, fingers itching to grab the backpack and run.

Sam had the door open and locked behind them before Kevin noticed. “What aren’t you telling me, Kevin?” Sam asked, finally handing over the backpack and sitting down on the bed closest to the door.

Kevin paced a few times and then set the backpack down on what he assumed would be his bed for the night. He unzipped it and took out the stack of journals, setting them down in a pile one by one . Keeping his hand on the top of the books, he finally met Sam’s eyes. “If I’ve got to be the prophet, then I might as well be the best at it that I can be. And that means writing down your story whether you guys like it or not. It’s not my choice, believe me, it hurts more than your worst migraine, and I’d rather not know every little thing about you guys. But I do, whether I like it or not. So, that’s what the books are, they’re the rest of your story from where Chuck’s books left off, up until now.”

“The Winchester Gospels ride again, huh?” Sam said with a little laugh that sounded kind of resigned and sad.

“Yeah, pretty much. Sorry. Like I said, I wish I didn’t have to, but it hurts even worse if I don’t write everything down, like my brain can’t hold it all in.”

“That’s kind of how my visions were. If I didn’t do something about them right away, it kept hurting more and more. I get it, Kevin, about you having to write our story. I don’t like it, of course…but it’s a God thing, not exactly like you can say no. Dean and I were vessels, like it or not, and you’re a prophet. Destiny’s bitches, all three of us.”

“Not you guys. You kicked Destiny in the ass!” Kevin exclaimed, embarrassed to be openly displaying his hero worship.

“Ah, I see you’ve caught up on the story then,” Sam laughed.

“Yeah. There wasn’t much to do at Crowley’s and he had the whole set of the Edlund books. Once I’d read them, something made me start writing and I pretty much haven’t stopped since.”

“Crowley had the books, huh? Not surprising, I guess,” Sam said, flopping back on the bed and stretching his long legs out so that his enormous boots hung off the edge.

“Know your enemy, he told me. Said it was for research purposes,” Kevin added, although it was probably stating the obvious.

“I can’t wait to kill that bastard,” Sam said to the ceiling in a flat voice.

“You will, I know you will, Sam,” Kevin said, hoping that his words came true.

“That an official prophecy straight from the prophet’s mouth?” Sam asked, sounding more than a little excited at the idea of killing Crowley.

“No, unfortunately, but it’s my professional opinion, so close enough, right?”

There was a loud thump at the door, it sounded like someone kicking it in a specific rhythm, instead of a random knock. Sam groaned and heaved himself up off the bed, opening the door to let Dean in with his trays of food and a crinkling plastic bag that undoubtedly held alcohol of some kind.

“Burgers all around, come and get it,” Dean said, spreading all the food out for everyone to grab. He seated himself at the table and began inhaling his hamburger, barely chewing it.

“Uh, I’m a vegetarian,” Kevin said, looking at the table of food a little forlornly, feeling a little hurt that Dean had forgotten. Sure, he’d been in Purgatory, but still.

“Duh, I know, dude, just a figure of speech. I got you one of those veggie burger things, and there’s two salads here, one for each of you freaking leaf-eaters.”

Kevin was unexpectedly moved that Dean really had remembered. Of course he had, that was what Dean did. He took care of people, as well as he could, and if that meant buying them salads and veggie burgers he didn’t see the point in eating himself, then he damn well would. It felt good to be taken care of like this, he could see why Sam put up with it.

“Thanks, Dean. I should have known you’d remember,” Kevin said, joining Dean at the table and savoring the first bite of his hot sandwich. He hadn’t eaten anything this good in a long time so he couldn’t suppress his happy eating noises. Sam and Dean glanced at each other and grinned, so he shot them each a thankful grin and dug into his salad.

“So, this wasn’t written down already, huh?” Sam asked, spreading the salad dressing over his salad and spearing a few leaves.

“No, the Download stopped at the part where we drove away from the church,” Kevin answered, shooting Dean a worried glance.

“You’re writing down your prophecies?” Dean asked through the last mouthful of his burger.

Kevin had forgotten what it was like to eat with Dean and his awful table manners, so it took him a moment to answer. “Yeah. And…uh…I’m writing your story too.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and darkened with anger. Sam set one hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Dean, it’s not his fault. It’s a God thing. He has to, it’s part of being the prophet.”

“Still don’t like it. That shit’s invasive as hell,” Dean said.

“I know, believe me, I know. And like I told Sam, I wouldn’t do it if I could help it. But you guys, you’ve been told this before, but your story…well…it’s important to the world. I can’t really explain that part yet, but all I know is that it’s true.”

“Do you think that’s why we’ve personally met the last two prophets ourselves? I mean, what are the chances that we would, right?” Sam asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the areas that were obviously going to remain sore spots for both of the brothers.

Kevin answered without having to think about it too much. “Yeah, it’s got to be part of the whole prophet thing to somehow know your subjects, especially if your story is as important as the Download insists it is.”

“What’s this Download you keep talking about?” Dean asked, clutching his beer bottle with a white knuckled grip, obviously still struggling with not exploding over the invasiveness of his life’s story being important to the world somehow.

“It’s just how I describe it to myself, what it feels like, when your story and the prophecies come through me. It’s like I’m downloading information from somewhere,” Kevin said, hoping his explanation made sense.

“If it helps, I’m sorry that you have to download all our crap and then write it down too. ’s hard enough livin’ it,” Dean said, reaching for another beer out of the bag.

“Yeah, that goes for me too, Kevin. It sucks you have to see all of our crap and that it hurts you too,” Sam said, compassionate concern focused on Kevin completely.

Kevin looked back and forth between the brothers a few times, and realized that they were being sincere. But they had no idea, they really didn’t, and he needed to somehow get them to understand. “Thanks for your concern, really, I mean it. But I’m sorry that you guys have to actually live through all of it. If you ask me, the world owes you big time for all that you’ve done. So many times, when most people would have given up, not even tried to keep fighting, to keep loving and being human. I mean, I’ve seen it, you’ve thrown yourselves out there over and over again, for strangers, for each other, even for your enemies. I know you’ll probably not accept this, and it’s not worth much, but I mean it as sincerely as I can, I thank you on behalf of the world.”

Sam’s eyes began to water and Kevin’s heart sank. He’d made Sam sad, shit, shit shit. But then he looked at Dean, and it wasn’t tears, it was a fond smile on his face because he was looking at his brother’s reaction. Dean reached over and squeezed one of Sam’s knees, and cleared his throat as obnoxiously as possible. “We accept your thanks,” he finally said with a classic Dean Winchester shit-eating grin.

Now it was Sam’s turn to be transfixed, watching his brother open and bloom, like he hadn’t seen him smile like that in a very long time. Finally he smiled, big and open at Dean, turning back towards Kevin, he said in a firm voice, “And we thank you for being the prophet.”

“Okay, so if this girl-fest is over now, can we find something good to watch and finish the beer or what?” Dean said, standing up and crunching up all the wrappers into one of the bags. He tied the top tightly and threw the bag into the trash can, swiped the remote off the top of the t.v. where it was velcro-ed and flopped down onto the bed that Sam was sitting on. It jostled Sam too much and he spilled some of his salad.

“Damn it, Dean! I wasn’t done with that,” Sam complained, dabbing at the hideous flowery comforter with one of the paper napkins.

“Sorry, Princess. You gotta eat faster around here,” Dean smirked and turned his attention to the t.v. which blared to life with an announcement for a preview for shark week.

Sam groaned and rolled his eyes so that both Dean and Kevin could see. “Kevin, I sure hope you like sharks.”

“Of course, who doesn’t? Is it shark week already?” Kevin asked, absurdly excited to see a working t.v. because it had been so long.

“See, Sammy, I’m not the weird one on this, sharks are prophet-approved,” Dean crowed, clapping his hand on his thigh a few times and snorting laughter.

“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it then. I’m going out for a walk,” Sam said, finishing his beer and dropping the bottle in the trash can. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, waving one of the room keys so Dean could see it.

“What was that all about?” Kevin asked, still sitting at the table by the window, and frankly still quite stunned to see the Winchesters-in-the-motel routine played out live instead of on Download-replay. It was even more adorable in person, and he’d never tell anyone he thought this about them, but it was freaking adorable, these two enormous, scary men still acting like they’re teenagers.

“Oh, it’s a long-running thing with us, Sam doesn’t get the beauty of Shark Week. A whole week about sharks, c’mon!”

“It’s really just a thing to tease each other about, isn’t it?” Kevin guessed.

“Yeah, it’s one of our things. You must know ‘em all by now. God, we must bore you to tears, dude,” Dean said, fiddling with the paper label on his beer bottle.

“No…uh…not boring, not the word I’d use to describe you guys. But, um, since Sam’s gone, there’s something I want to tell you. I think you should tell Sam how you got out of Purgatory, sooner rather than later,” Kevin said, studying Dean’s face to see if he understood what he meant.

“You saw all that, huh?” Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure I can. Pretty sure Sam wouldn’t understand. Especially since he gave up on hunting while I was gone anyway. He didn’t even look for me.”

The sadness in Dean’s voice broke Kevin’s heart to hear. He couldn’t just blurt out Sam’s story, that wouldn’t be right, but maybe…“Dean, he truly thought you were dead,” Kevin offered, hoping it would be enough to help Dean get over this huge upset.

“Can you tell me any more about the woman and the dog?” Dean asked in a voice that made him sound like he was about ten years old.

“No, it’s Sam’s story to tell. I’ve probably said too much already. I’m sorry, I was just trying to help. You guys seemed a little stuck,” Kevin said, mostly regretting having said anything in the first place.

“No, no apologies, I get it. You’re right. Far as he knew, I was dead, and he tried to make a life without me. Meanwhile I was fighting tooth and nail every damn day just to get back to him. It’s a little unbalanced, you know? I’ll get over it or I’ll stow it.”

“That’s how you guys are though, you go back and forth, taking turns on over-doing the saving each other thing. And neither of you are very good at living lives with other people. I haven’t had…uh…any real relationships or anything, but it seems like you ought to be glad each other are still alive and that you’re back together. Same plane of existence and everything. I mean…it’s a win/win right?”

Dean looked up at the corner of the ceiling intensely for a moment and then cracked a half-smile. “Yeah, I guess I’ll get there eventually. But I can’t help feeling like I screwed everything up for him again, just by coming back.”

Kevin realized that this was probably where the relationship counseling really came in, having seen this issue come up over and over again in their story. “Dean, I think you couldn’t be more wrong on that, and that’s all I can say. Just please, try and talk to him about it, okay?”

“This have to do with a prophecy?” Dean asked, searching Kevin’s face with a direct scrutiny that was uncomfortable.

Kevin shrugged, trying to maintain his composure. “No, just a gut feeling based on reading all the books and writing all the new ones. You and Sam are soul mates and that doesn’t ever change. No matter what, you need each other. Things get messed up the most when you guys hide big stuff because you think the other one can’t handle it. So tell him about the Purgatory thing, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, you talked me into it. Now let’s watch some sharks, okay? You need another one?” Dean asked, gesturing towards the bag with the beer bottles.

“No, just one was good enough for me. This about great whites, or something else?” Kevin asked, settling down on his bed on the propped up pillows, he dropped his shoes off onto the carpet with a thud. How strange it was to be with other people, talking, listening, interacting, all that good stuff. He’d missed it. It wasn’t really the same, reliving the brother’s lives and writing it down. Part of this prophet thing had to be having some of the experiences with the subjects. And hopefully, he’d helped them somehow tonight by risking being pushy with Dean like he just had.

~**~**~

Eventually Sam returned to their room and found Dean snoring on his back, Kevin curled up under the covers with one of the journals under one hand, and a pen in the cup of his other hand. Sam closed the door as quietly as he could, slid the pen and journal out of Kevin’s grasp, and pulled the last beer bottle out from between Dean’s legs. Dean still had all his clothes on, except his jacket, even his boots, and he was laying there rigid as if he was ready to take flight if he heard anything unusual. Sam padded quietly to the bathroom and got himself ready for bed. He checked the salt lines, turned out all the lights as well as the tv, and slid under the covers next to Dean.

Dean of course woke up and grabbed for the awful blade he’d been using lately, the one from Purgatory. He had it coming towards Sam’s throat before Sam even noticed he’d moved.

“Dean, it’s me. Sorry I woke you up,” Sam said through the pressure of Dean’s hand constricting around his windpipe.

Dean relaxed instantly and put the blade back under his pillow, then flopped down on it and turned towards Sam. “Sorry, Sammy; got used to having to do that.”

“In Purgatory, you mean?” Sam whispered, not wanting to wake Kevin up.

“Yeah, pretty much every time I laid down to sleep, I got woken up by something trying to kill me. Hard to get out of the kill-or-be-killed mode, ya know?” Dean whispered back.

“I do. I get it. Hey, uh, Dean, would you let me know if I can help you with that somehow?”

“I’m getting better. Don’t worry ‘bout me, Sammy,” Dean trailed off.

“I can’t help it, I do worry about you. Bobby used to give me shit about it,” Sam chuckled softly to himself at the memory.

“Yeah, me too; it was another excuse to call me an idjit, worrying about you too much. He always said that you were a big boy and you could take care of yourself,” Dean chuckled a little too, smiling across the space between them.

“You think Kevin’s okay?” Sam asked.

“No, of course not. He got kidnapped by Crowley, he’s been on the run for a year, and just saw his girlfriend killed, but he’s tougher than he looks. He was giving me advice earlier,” Dean said.

“Prophet advice or Kevin advice?” Sam asked.

“Both, kinda. He said I needed to talk to you about Purgatory more, so that you get where I’m coming from, especially how I got out,” Dean admitted.

“Okay, I’m ready to listen whenever you want to tell me,” Sam said patiently.

Dean took a few moments to compose himself and explained the whole process of surviving and escaping Purgatory. Sam listened and then thanked him for coming clean about it. They fell asleep wrapped up in each other, like they should have been from the first night that Dean was back.

~**~**~

While the Winchesters reconciled a few feet away from him, Kevin finally had a conversation with what had to be the source of the Download as he slept. The only thing he could remember clearly when he woke up was a man’s voice telling him, “I see you’ve been following my divine imperative finally. Well done getting the boys back together, that’s changed everything now, for the better, because you’re not going to die too soon. Stick with them, they’ll keep you safer than any archangel could have. Remember, you’re my Prophet, not just a translator. That means you affect the world, you don’t just write it down.”

Kevin sat up abruptly, reaching for his journal to write it all down. He hadn’t received any other information from his dream conversation with the Download. Kevin was left with this sense of peace about the future, that something bad had been averted just because of what he’d said to the brothers. He wasn’t going to die too soon; what did that even mean?

He turned to see if they were awake yet and was surprised to see that they were both dead asleep. Dean was still fully dressed and on top of the bedspread with his boots on. He was lying on his side, facing Kevin, completely wrapped up in Sam’s arms, though. Kevin smiled to himself, guessing that something in what he’d said to Dean last night really had worked. It was good to see them both so relaxed and at peace. They both deserved it and he was glad to have possibly helped them in some small way. And maybe if he let them read his journals at some point, that would help too; there was a whole lot in there that would probably surprise the Winchesters more than finding out that he was ‘that kind of a Prophet’ after all.

~FIN~


End file.
